Saturday, August 28, 2010
sunrise. coffee. scones con blueberry. fruit of the monkey. hooded wool and cold feet. creaky, achy calves slowly warming to the idea of what i am proposing. interwebs to help awaken. warm up the trail truck while checking to see what i'm wearing for this deal. trail head. find a clever place to hide the key. start slowly, wondering how i'm going to run anything at all, but having been in this place thousands of time before, i know the cadence will smooth out. lightening up, i start to move. my focus wakes up as the chemicals kick in. chippies seem to get out of my way just as my foot is about to hit them. taking the bermed turns when permitted, the climbing starts. i start to feel my breathing now and the ache that sits in our quads no matter how slow or fast we run this makes it's presence known. the creek beside the trail is quiet, done moving snow towards the falls. sweating now. the sun opens more of the trail up to me and i decide to forgo further shirt coverage. happy valley is a welcome sight. three young bull elk get up and run towards the treeline. one big mamma elk just stays where she is, eyeing me. i think we've seen each other before, so she knows why i'm here. passing over the bridge. and into another section of trail, i realize, again, how beautiful and enjoyable the purity of this all is. no race number. no goals. no watch. just taking advantage of what is available to me instead of making excuses or putting it off for another day. weaving past an old miner camp i cross another creek before starting my descent. fresh sawdust and missing section of ponderosa opens up the pathway from the spot across the trail where the big pine fell. moving into the sunlight and shale rock on this descent, taking in the little secrets of this place that i have been taught and found on my own. knowing when to look forward, and when to look back. broken top looms, jagged and pale without it's snowy coat. tumalo mountain offers the same. the sound of whooping and rotor rub breaks the trance and i run ahead to a spot to step aside for a few two wheelers who want to talk and ask for directions. i wasn't in the mood for tour guide, but i helped anyway. moving off, i followed the skidmarks of the tourist bikers through all of the turns, totally overcooked and tried not be judgemental and sad about it. the spell of the experience having been broken, i trotted back to the truck and headed in. all good. happy to be back. morning yearning quenched.